Fourth graders. A batch of fourth graders showed me the road I want to travel on. I had been involved with an organization called Character Counts. It is a fantastic volunteer program, where one goes into a school classroom and talks about the pillars of character. I would often, enthusiastically, ask the kids what the pillars were, because I could never remember. The pillars of Character Counts are trustworthiness, respect, responsibility, fairness, caring, and citizenship. Each month was a different pillar. I so loved doing this that I never planned what I was going to say, to the kids. Often I felt like a channel, what to say just came.

During a very difficult time in my life, that all consuming break-up with a loved one that leaves you dry, Character Counts was about the only thing I enjoyed doing. Kept me going, being positive for those kids. I think the pillar of the month, where it became clear to me what road I was going to travel, was fairness. As I stood in front of that magical fourth grade class, a beautiful black girl with a deep, soulful voice and eyes of a hundred and ten year old raised her hand, looked me right in the eye and asked, “Miss Trish, what do you do when someone has hurt you, it doesn’t seem fair if you don’t get to hurt them back?" A channel opened and so did a road. This is exactly what I had been asking myself, what do I tell a bunch of fourth graders? I took a deep breath and said, “It’s natural to feel that way, but you don’t hurt others, you know how that feels. You take the high road.” The beautiful girl, again, looked me right in the eye, smiled and nodded, she already knew. Was I ready to take the high road? While walking down the school hallway, I knocked myself on the head, Are you listening, I thought. I went home and back to my depressed state, yet a powerful seed had been planted. The following week I went back to the classroom, as I did every week. As soon as I entered the class, a hand flew up. Yea, go ahead, I said. “What’s the high road again?”, a boy asked. I asked the class if anyone could answer that. I wish I could remember the words of the sweet boy who spoke. I got goose bumps and shivers up my spine, as he gave his version of the high road. When he finished, his classmates and I spontaneously applauded. I watched this boy, literally, grow and open as he received his applause, his whole face lit up. I knew I had just witnessed something special, something that would keep me going until next week.

During the depressing in between time, I would sadly ask the powers that be, where my reward was, this was a really hard time. I would cry out to the night sky on the private farm where I lived, “where is my next boyfriend and pile of money?” Only to return to my little cottage alone, tired and with the ever present depression.

Once again a hand flew up when I entered the fourth grade classroom the following week. A charming young Mexican boy asked, “But Miss Trish, when you take the high road you don’t get any medals or rewards.” I stared at him a moment, I could not believe he was asking me this. Do I admit my lonesome cries to the night sky? I thought not, sighed and said, “That’s right, but in your heart you know you have done the right thing and you may have a friend or two that s sees this in you and that’s your reward.” I really didn’t care much for my answer , as I knew now I would have to live it. I could not be a hypocrite and tell the kids one thing and do another. I did look up at the night sky one evening, I rolled my eyes and curled my lip, but I did not cry out and walked back to my little cottage a little less. Less lonely, less hurt, less sad and depressed. These kids were lightening me up. The next week I asked the sweet Mexican boy if he understood what we had talked about previously, he looked at me, right in the face, “Oh yea,” he said “you take the high road and your heart feels good and you have good friends.” I stared at him, again, these kids were teaching me so much. I loved it and needed it.

I was happy, when the next time to stand in front of that fourth grade class came around. Once again, a hand, a question. “What’s the low road?”, an impish boy asked. I asked the class to answer that. A lovely, quiet girl, who had not spoken a word, for months, raised her hand. I motioned to her, she spoke these words, “the low road is when you don’t let go of things.” My favorite forth grade teacher and I looked at each other, with dropped jaws, stunned.

There it was, simple, true and without consequence, let go. The high road is where you let go of things, hurts, pains, and people.

Now I ask the night sky to help me let go.

Patricia Brady is new to Maine via Nepal, India, Thailand, The Caribbean, Maryland and Pennsylvania. Works creatively with children turning adversity into gifts. Enjoys the beauty, solitude and calming quiet that Maine's nature has to offer. She can be reached at This e-mail address is being protected from spambots. You need JavaScript enabled to view it .